Since I can remember, I wanted to be the princess or queen of something. I had the life-size Rapunzel tower, the crowns and tiaras with all the Swarovskis a child could choke on, big flowing romantic dresses oozing with silks, tulle and lace, at least doubles of every toy (I liked bestowing copies to friends) and my seat next to Prince Harry at 'Fun with Music' every week (something involving listening to Classical music whilst drawing). It was the 80s anyway and looking back I realise that I had a rather tasteful 80s experience with only a few slip-ups.
My grandmother was by far the coolest person ever for gifts at this point. The highlight of visiting her was raiding her vintage couture and dancing around in it to Bizet and Tchaikovsky. Occasionally, she would give me a hallowed dress, fabulously too big for me or crazy costume jewellery to keep. One birthday she presented me with a heavy flat package, suspiciously un-squishy, I was mortified to unwrap a framed 18th century French Gobelin-style petit-point tapestry. I was 8 years old. How was I ever going to explain this to my friends? I didn't even understand it myself. She explained that all princesses and queens have beautiful tapestries in their castles. Not trying at all to hide my disappointment I suggested it would look great in her own collection of old tapestries. Obviously the message did not translate as intended, and I have been supplied with an endless stream of antiques ever since.
Needless to say my affection for any form of needlepoint was limited for sometime after, until I happened upon the fantastical creations of Frederique Morrel, the wife and husband duo who sculpt with salvaged vintage and antique needlepoint work. Re-addressing the theme of traditional taxidermy and the lost crafts of artisans, they use a complex set of techniques from fibreglass moulds to expanding foam. Resin, latex and glass are used for realistic details such as eyes. The final pieces are not mummified animals, the only animal parts a few tufts of fur on occasional pieces and details such as antlers and hooves. Despite the absence of the deceased animals, whose death-masks now remain, they are more haunting than their plain taxidermied brethren. The exaggerated expressions, outstretched tongues, garish colours and pneumatic naked ladies taut over their haunches, leave the viewer pleasantly unsettled. Some wear the fur of the dead, but these dead wear the images of human nudes.
There are many references to popular culture. "Audrey Headburn" a handsome female deer with 5 antlers and fake lashes and "Bambi Behind" a gaudy re-interpretation of the classic awkward Bambi pose finished with a bright pink fluffy tail. "Billy Jean" is by far and away my favourite, an old goat in acerbic yellow with a long black beard, glaring with loony yellow glass eyes and sticking out its tongue. Billy Jean is definitely no-ones lover at the moment, that is why I have to love her (or him as females technically do not have horns). Crazy and possibly misunderstood, she deserves a place above the fireplace in the castle. Even my grandmother would approve. Possibly.
These sculptures are all at once hideous, charming, intriguing and jarring. Like a car crash, it seems wrong to look but you are compelled, and while your at it, poke the stag in its ribs just to check its not real. I suppose owning one is the grown up comeback to having been denied one of those life-size toy animals in FAO Schwartz or Harrods toy department as a child. Revenge is bitterly sweet.
"Jetset Violet"
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